


When the lights go out

by DaturaMoon



Series: Other Pedro Pascal Characters [9]
Category: Lights Out (TV 2011), Omar Assarian - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28710969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaturaMoon/pseuds/DaturaMoon
Summary: Drabble turned into much more, so for now this is Pt 1. I got way more into this than I thought I would. This is for Omar, a minor character of PP in the show Lights Out.
Series: Other Pedro Pascal Characters [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013037
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Omar

Omar was arrogant. 

Even from a distance you could see him turning into all the things you hated. He even ran with a crowd who thought they were hard as hell, all you saw was a bunch of scared boys trying to be important. It was all an illusion, this new world Omar found himself in. 

It was hard to believe he was the same person from before, the same boy you stayed up all night talking to and sharing music with. The same boy who fell asleep on your shoulder when you made forts in your bedroom. The same boy that gave you your first butterflies and your first kiss. It was hard to believe that somewhere inside of the Armenian Avenger, was the boy who stole your heart so long ago. 

You and Omar first lost touch when you left for college. Your dreams called you beyond what New Jersey could offer. So you followed your heart and listened to the call. Omar stayed back, making a name for himself in your hometown.

You stayed in touch the best you could, with visits, phone calls and text. Then Omar's life took him to places you didn’t want to go, he started to change before your eyes. It was clear, during your last visit 4 months ago that your best friend was now someone else entirely. 

Even with the growing distance and your disinterest in boxing, you followed Omar’s growing career. That part of you that wanted to hold onto Omar watched all the fights, read all the interviews and paid close attention as he quickly became a hometown favorite. 

Omar dropped the ball first, the deeper he got involved with his “crew”, the more he became another person. He offered to come see you less and would get annoyed if you declined an invite to a show or party. Omar knew that wasn’t your scene, still, he seemed disappointed you wanted no part of it. 

The last time you saw Omar, you were spending a few days in New York where he had a show that weeked. You planned for drinks, but Omar showed up late and with a group of four, talking out of his ass and acting like an idiot. 

Never one to not speak your mind, when you said something about it Omar only grew defensive; your little spat escalated to a fight. When Omar disrespected you, you had enough. After telling him off, you left and blocked his number. 

...

That was a month ago. 

Now you sat in your old bedroom at your mothers house, staring at the ticket in your hands. Though you weren’t talking, it was a small town and word must have traveled you were here. Three hours into your visit, a gift box showed up at your door with one of your favorite treats, some flowers, and a ticket to his upcoming fight. 

In the last half hour, you changed your mind so many times. Go. Don’t go. Ignore it. Rip up the ticket and send it back to him? 

The ticket in your hand was a fucking bomb. It unlocked a vault of memories you shoved deep inside. Like a black and white film you remember all your good times and the way he used to make you feel. You remember the way he would reach for your hand when no one else was around, interlacing his fingers in yours. Omar was a cuddler, you wondered if he still was. You wondered if the random girls he hooked up with now saw any of the gentleness you knew so well. 

Ten more minutes pass by. You somehow find yourself flipping through photographs you hid under your bed in a box. Jr high. High School. The stupid dance neither of you wanted to do to, so you did dressed in ridiculous outfits. That time Omar took you on a week-long trip before college. He even helped you move in. 

Under the spell of nostalgia, you decide to go. Would you regret it? Likely. 

…

Two nights before the fight 

You shouldn’t be here. 

The music, the crowd, the vibe - it was so far from your thing. But Omar wore you down. He called your mothers house and even stopped by, all to ask if you would come to this stupid party. 

You already knew you’d say yes the moment you opened the door. Those puppy dog eyes staring at you full of excitement. You could feel how happy he was to see you again. When he smiled, it was infectious, you almost forgot you were mad at him. 

It’s only been minutes but you feel overwhelmed. Omar is nowhere in sight and you feel like you need a shower from all the assholes hitting on you and watching you like a piece of meat. This house was full of people you tried to avoid, and now Omar was surrounded by them. 

You check your phone again, he hasn’t responded to any of your texts. Making a detour to the kitchen, you pour yourself a shot and knock it back, desperate for some relief as anxiety rises in your body. 

It was like one of those dramatic romances you used to make fun of all the time. The epic will they or won’t they. Being in love with your best friend came with a lot of heartache, and thought you were intimate more than once, you just never had the guts to tell him the extent of your feelings, your true feelings. 

Other guys came and went in the 4 years you spent apart, but at night when you laid down only one lingered like a ghost, like a shadow on your heart; Omar. You convinced yourself you were over him so many times, but whenever he popped back up, it was a harsh reminder you weren’t. 

After making one round through the ground floor, you head up the stairs. You would look once, and if he was nowhere to be found you would leave. As you move down the hall, and pass some people making out, you roll your eyes at the types of girls in this place. Typical, you think. You wonder how many of them Omar has fucked and if he even knew their names, or cared. 

You make it down the hall, pass the numerous rooms and excessive amounts of stuff. You never understood why some people, once they had money, spent it on shiny expensive shit; it just seemed so over the top. 

With a heavy sigh, you turn around and head back when a door swings open to your left. A cloud of smoke hits your senses. 

“Yo!!! Oh shit,” you hear him before you see him. Two guys and three girls spill out of the room, Omar was last. 

A wide grin fills his lips as nods to his friends who head toward the stairs. You hold your breath and take a step to the left to see him more clearly. 

Omar shakes his head, taking you in, “Damn, look at you.” 

You chuckle and lick your lips, “I’m clearly overdressed by the looks of all the other women.” 

Omar waves his hand in a don’t worry about them kind of way. He steps closer, looking deep into your eyes. You can’t help but feel butterflies awaken again. 

“Shit, you could wear a garbage bag and still be the hottest woman in the room.” 

You grin and break eye contact. Not that you don’t want to look at him. It’s just that you need to keep it together and the longer you stare into those brown eyes the weaker your defenses would become. 

You can feel Omars intense focus on you as you look at anything but him. You quickly glance at him, seeing his lips start to move. 

“What?” You ask, immediately feeling stupid for asking. 

Omar’s brows tense, “I didn’t say anything.” 

“Yeah, sorry.” You shove your hands in the pockets of the leather jacket. This is ridiculous, you weren't two awkward teenagers in a hallway, but it felt like it. 

Omar moves forward with open arms, the gloss of his high washing over his expression. You step into it and feel him relax as your palms rest against his back. He smells good. Body memories rush back, you’re instantly back at the hotel the last time his body was over yours - 

“I can’t believe you came,” Omar’s voice is soft as he buries his face in your neck, savoring your scent. Your hair smells the same, you’ve used that conditioner since high school. Omar smiles and holds you tighter. 

You rub his back, he exhales audibly. 

“I wasn’t going to,” you admit, “ but, you kept harassing me so -” 

Omar laughs and moves back just enough to look at your, your bodies still interlocked. 

You get lost in his eyes and the way his hands now move over your arms. The wretched party starts to disappear and all you see and feel is him. For a split second, it feels like old times. Until the loud boom of an annoying voice shatters the calm of the moment. 

“Yo Omar!” The voice comes from behind you. The large and poorly dressed guy checks you out as he makes his way to Omars side. “Damn, you hiding the good ones, whose this cutie?” he runs his hand over his goatee, you recoil and take a step back. 

The hug breaks and you notice the man, not so slyly, sliding a small white packet in Omars hand. 

Your heart sinks, you hope it’s not what you think it is. But, you know it is.

“Fuck, Omar, really?” You cross your arms and look at him pointedly. 

A small frown lingers on his lips as his eyes move between you and the guy. 

“What are you, a fuckin nun?” The guy comments with a smile. Before you get the chance to tell him off, Omar shoves him back against a wall. 

“Don’t fucking talk to her like that!” Omar yells. 

You turn your back to them and rush toward the stairs. You feel sick. Your eyes watering as you take wide rushed steps pass onlookers in the hall. The staircase seems farther away than you remember. 

Just before you reach the steps, a hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you backward. Omar drags you into the nearest room and shuts the door. It’s pitch black aside from a sliver of Moon light from the window

Omar walks further into the room as you sag against the door, letting it hold you up.   
Omar scratches his head, you see his wheels turning.

“What the fuck happened to us?” He asks with an innocence you haven’t seen in years.

You drop your head and shrug your shoulders. 

“All of this happened, Omar. That shit out there, those people,” you look up, meeting his eyes, “I don’t even know who you are anymore!” 

Omar sucks his teeth and waves his hand in a dismissive manner. “I ain't change, you changed. You’re like some saint or some shit now.” 

You bite down on your bottom lip in an effort to control the fire rising in your body. You changed? You? The audacity. 

Anger wins. You charge over to him and pull the little packet out of his pocket. “Really? As if all that isnt enough.” You throw it back at him. You see panic in his expression as he looks around for it. 

You’ve never seen him so desperate, so lost. You fight back oncoming tears. You held so much inside for so long. There was so much you wanted to say to him and never said it. Now, it was all coming to the surface. 

You take a deep breath in and out. “You’re better than this, Omar. You don’t need all this. You don’t need to act and talk like them.” 

Omar stands, he almost looks afraid. 

You look away briefly, then back with a pained expression. “I miss you, Omar. The real you.”

Omar rubs the back of his neck, becoming fidgety. 

You walk over to him and place your hand over his heart. You lock eyes. “If you ever find that guy again. Let me know.” 

Omar raises his eyebrows and leans in to you. Raising one of his hands, he places it over yours. 

You start to bite your lip again and the air in the room feels thin. When you start to move your hand, he presses down harder, keeping it there. 

You frown, “Omar, I need to go.”

“Don’t”. His voice barely a whisper. 

You take a step back but he wraps his arm around your body, pulling you closer. 

When his lips meet yours, you submit, melting in his arms. The kiss is sweet, emotional, soft. 

You break away first, seeing the disappointment in his eyes. 

Omar clears his throat, “Too bad you’re not around anymore, to keep me in my place.”

His words break your heart. But you have to remind yourself Omar wasn’t your responsibility. He had to get straight because he wanted to. He had to make better decisions on his own. 

With a soft sigh, you plant a kiss on his cheek and pull away. Omar is almost frozen in place, like he’s waiting for your touch to return. When you dig in your pocket to return the ticket, he stops you. 

“Keep it.” 

You stare at the ticket and he takes it from your fingers. Omar gently tucks it back into your pocket. 

Before you do something you’ll regret, or dig yourself a deeper hole, you quickly turn around and leave the room.   
...

Night of fight

As the shitty rapper hypes up the audience, you grip the beer in your hand tighter. Unable to get comfortable, you shift in place again and crook your neck to get a glimpse of him. 

When Omar spots you, the biggest smile animates his lips and you feel your heart do that thing, that stupid thing. The moment passes too fast, but you know he needs to focus on the fight and just let your eyes follow him up the stage. 

You know being here meant the world to him. There was no doubt you had layers of shit to work out with Omar, and he had some serious apologizing to do. But this was his biggest fight yet, it felt right to show up. 

Tonight, you were here as a friend to support him. And you hoped, this was the start of something good. Maybe, just maybe, you could make your way back to each other again.


	2. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Be prepared for angst and longing. Omar being stupid. We drop in right after the fight. A gun mentioned but not used.

As you make your way to the entrance of the room, you finally spot Omar by the lockers. He’s upset and worked up, his stupid friends only agitating the situation with the shit coming out of their mouths. 

The medic gives him a final check, looks over the small bandage on his cheek and leaves. Like vultures, his friends swoop in closer. Omar jumps up to his feet and starts to pace. He was always an animated talker, his face, hands, body - they all communicated something. But now his movements were short and quick like little bursts of fire. 

“That was my shot! Everything I worked for! FUCK!” Omar kicks a locker and you jump back, despite your safe distance in the hallway. He still hasn’t spotted you yet. 

Maybe this wasn’t a good time to talk to him. But in your gut, you had a feeling he might do something stupid. Even though you kept reminding yourself he was not your responsibility, here you were. 

“Yo. Omar, fuck that, you’re unbreakable!” The guy in the white hat and sweater says. 

Omar nods frantically, “Yeah. I am.” 

“UNDEFEATABLE!” The other guy yells. 

The one in the hat talks again, “Yo, I know what we need! Some drinks and some ASS!” 

Omar runs his hand over his mouth, “Yeah, you damn right!” 

The third friend, he went by Bazooka or some shit, starts to rap again and you’ve had enough. Just as you turn to leave, Omar catches a glimpse of you. 

Omar chases you into the hall and takes hold of your wrist. You turn to face him. Aside from the cut, and redness which would likely turn into a bruise tomorrow, Omar looked alright. 

His brows are tense and you can tell he’s not sure whether to step closer or keep his distance. “So you came just to run away?” 

The comment lands heavy, your lingering annoyance at him floods back at full force. 

“I’m not the one running away, Omar.” You pull away from his grip and head down the hall. 

Regretting your decision, you keep your head high as you turn the corner. Leaving Omar alone in the hallway. 

...

The Next Day 

You spend most of the day with childhood friends and even catch a movie at the old theatre. Unlike your experiences with Omar, these trips down memory lane proved more fruitful and less emotionally draining. 

Though, in quiet moments, you still think about him. 

When you get back to your mothers house, you catch her on the way out to see a friend. After making yourself a meal, you sit to eat and notice the knot in your stomach, the one that never went away. 

You think about Omar and wonder how he was taking the loss of the fight. You only take two bites before the doorbell rings, the ring is so specific you already know how it was. The first time you came up with that code you were kids. 

Surprised he even remembered it, you smile a little as you make your way to the door. Before you can fully open it, Omar steps in and his energy is frenzied, scattered. 

Your smile drops to a frown. “Hey, what’s going on?” 

His face is tense and something in his eyes tells you he already did something stupid. 

You sigh and grab his forearm, holding him in place. “Omar?” 

He clenches his jaw, eyes darting about the room before he speaks, “is your mom's home?” 

Confused, you shake your head. “No.” 

Omar curses under his breath and rubs the back of his neck. Before you can ask anymore questions he reaches under his coat and reveals a gun. 

You step back in shock, “Fuck! Omar...what the fuck!” 

He puts the gun on the counter and stares at it. 

Adrenaline shooting through your veins, the room suddenly feels hot as your throat closes up. 

Omar paces, his hands on his hips. 

Panic rises in your body and you take a seat at the table, trying to calm your breath. “Omar, what did you do?” 

Your worry seems to pull him back to the room. His eyes are sad mixed with confusion. 

“I didn’t do shit.” He’s defensive. 

You point at the table, “you have a fucking gun, Omar. Don’t pull that shit with me!” 

Your raised voice takes him by surprise. He goes quiet. 

“Omar, what the hell did you do?” 

He drops his gaze and stares at the floor. “Nothing,” he exhales, “I almost - I didn’t though.” 

Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes travel back to the gun. Feeling overwhelmed, you drop your head in your hands and close your eyes. 

A moment later Omar approaches you, he awkwardly rests his hand on your back, moving it in a circular motion. 

Speaking into your hand, you don’t look up. 

“Please, get that out of here, go home, sleep it off.” 

Omar kneels down before you, resting his hands on your knees. When you raise your head, your eyes meet. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He cups your cheek with his hand, “I fucked up.” 

Blinking softly you place a hand over his.

“I know. But you can stop, you can stop now and turn everything around Omar.” 

You can tell by the look in his eyes he’s doing more than listening. You brush your thumb over his skin. 

“You keep going like this, you’ll end up dead Omar. I don’t want to see that -” your voice breaks. The tears lingering in the corner of your eyes finally fall, leaving two hot trails under your eyes.

Omar wipes them away “I’ll go.” 

You nod and close your eyes. Silence falls between you both, and you hold his hands tighter, not wanting him to leave. 

Omar takes his first deep breath all day. The softness in your expression makes him feel calm. 

When you open your eyes again, he’s already watching you. 

His lips quiver a little when he speaks, “can I come back later?” 

Omar’s puppy dog eyes sinks your heart and all you want to do is hold him and keep him close.   
Before you know it, your lips meet his in a kiss. Your lips are as soft as he remembers. Omar can’t help himself, he pulls you up and into his arms, your body against his. 

The kiss heats up as his hands travel your body. Though it’s the last thing you want, you pull away, knowing it’s the right thing to do. When your lips part, you rest your forehead against his. 

“As long as you don’t bring that, you can come back.” Your voice barely above a whisper. 

Omar kisses you once more before letting you go. He retrieves the gun and heads for the door. Stopping short, he glances back at you. 

“It wasn’t loaded.” 

You don’t respond. Omar looks down, then leaves the house.


End file.
